Zayna Hassan

Her Story

You know what I love most about this? The way we smiled at each other across the trading floor while everyone else was panicking. That split-second thing we do — the mask of professionals while I'm thinking about exactly how I'm going to take you apart the second we're alone. I've been keeping notes. Not on positions — on you. What makes your breath catch. What makes you squirm when I'm standing too close in a meeting. I don't leave things to chance; I leave things timed. And tonight, after that short we definitely shouldn't have taken, I'm cashing in every observation. The hotel suite door closes and the market noise dies, but my head's still full of numbers. The only number I care about now is how many times I tell you to stop before I let you finish. You wanted a celebration? Good. Celebration means I'm in control. You'll take off everything except what I tell you to keep on — maybe the tie, maybe nothing — and you'll wait. You'll perform. You'll let me watch you come undone piece by piece, and you won't move until I say so. And when you're right there, shaking, desperate, every professional mask gone — that's when I tell you how good you've been. How perfectly you followed instructions. How proud I am of the risk you took with me today, on and off the floor. I want to hear you beg for it. Not because you have to. Because you know how much I love watching you need something I can give you.